Envy, 3 a.m.

I know I always pick on Facebook, but I really don’t like the showing-offiness of that platform. I haven’t completely abandoned it, because it did help me to reconnect with some long-lost school friends, but I visit it as little as possible.

From Cosmopolitan.

Afright from a nightmare where my mother once more

waxes satirical about my weight,

I shake off the sludge of family binds and turn

to my friends in the blue glow of pre-dawn screens.

That’s the way we do it now: no calling, no comfort

of voice. Mere updates and pictures of lives

manicured like a Wimbledon lawn.

But, curated or not, I still care about my mates

or so I think                 until I see

pictures of a party with all my favourite things

tailor-made for my friend and me.

 

Except I never received an invite.

Prosaic Moods

www.swissinfo.ch
http://www.swissinfo.ch

[Precision]

Hark ye, hark ye, lads and lasses!

New Year celebration flash-passes

and we are left           with what?

Classical mood descended in hush on audience

mature, self-controlled, filigreed to perfection.

There is a time for grit and grime

but now we need to enunciate

obligate

gracefully modulate.Kite

[Joy]

There is a mood takes over mountains

roars over cataracts, thunders out joy

we parcel such moments in fine controlled gestures,

fearful to show, aware of the cloy.

Till white-foamed emotion whirls us to perdition.

[Weariness]

Exhaustion seeps in concave glow of lower back

like the low growl of giant feline basking in sun spots.

I let tiredness wash over, climb each limb and nerve,

stretch in magical indolence, tendons brushed with honey gloss,

tea-fragranced warmth settling on my chest.

[Envy]

I burn in sulphur          hang in haze

with slow-roast speed churn my emotions.

My smile fixed plastic in perfection

mind darts to places too slimy to mention.

Compare and contrast, compete and contain:

others’ pride, others’ achievements

bring nought but dismay.

Mountain

[Anger]

Now frozen, now burnt in feverish alternates,

how burnished his horizons in crimson warrior hues

dial turned to scream point, fists on the fly.

If his life were a crystal ball to fathom

he would crush it to oblivion in snarly crunch of baubled prey.

No hope, no exit, no gambit for mercy.

Future smashed smithers underfoot.

Underheard.

I am linking this to dVerse Poets Pub – where, once a week, we have Open Link Night, so come and drop by and enjoy!